


Hidden Asset

by wendelah1



Category: Charade (1963)
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 23:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6349546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendelah1/pseuds/wendelah1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reggie Cruikshank née Lampert discovers she has a knack for decorating on a budget—and for recovering stolen property.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Asset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ryfkah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/gifts).



December, 1963.

Reggie and Brian had what one would call "a whirlwind courtship," emphasis on whirlwind. There wasn't much time for courting, what with running around Paris, dodging bullets, and being threatened by a trio of thugs and one madman. In less than a fortnight, she had gone from being a wife to a widow and back to a wife again. She also had to get used to calling Peter by his real name: Brian Cruikshank.

Good Lord. She was now _Mrs._ Cruikshank. Well. "A rose by any other name..." she mumbled.

"It's not so bad really. What does it signify?" Sophie asked, over a glass of wine at the local cafe.

"It's Scottish. It means a bow-legged man." 

"Oh." They looked at one another and burst into laughter. 

After a quiet, civil ceremony, she moved into Brian's bachelor apartment, which was much larger than her hotel room, of course, but considerably smaller than she'd been expecting. Brian assured her that once they'd started a family, he would find them something more spacious. In the meantime, he agreed she could redecorate, which seemed more than fair. The only furnishing he insisted on keeping was his leather club chair and matching ottoman. It could have been worse—at least it wasn't a Barcalounger!

Fresh, cream-colored paint on the walls and new draperies for the windows worked wonders. Brian liked to cook, which was a relief since she didn't, so he already had a fully furnished kitchen. His silver was an old set, inherited from a childless aunt, and in perfect condition. Reggie was a practical woman so there was no reason to replace it. The mismatched china he'd picked up secondhand was another matter but it meant she could choose something she loved. Reggie had an eye for a bargain. It would take time, but eventually the apartment would be beautiful. 

June, 1965.

Browsing the Marché Vernaison on a sunny Saturday with her husband was a welcome change to trudging the aisles pushing a stroller. They should have been apartment-hunting, but Reggie simply didn't have the energy. Adam was just six months old, she was pregnant again, and she couldn't face another renovation. Moving would have to wait, at least until the second trimester. 

She was hunting for a suitable frame for a painting she'd found for the living room. It wasn't valuable at all—it wasn't even signed—but she liked the cheerful colors. It would be suitable to hang on the far wall above the credenza. She pointed to a large, ornately carved frame and inquired about its cost. After a suitable period of bargaining, they settled on a price. 

"Just hang it around my neck," Brian grumbled after handing over payment. "We'll have to take the metro home. No self-respecting Paris cab driver would agree to transport three passengers, the stroller, and this behemoth." 

Naturally, after lugging it home, the frame turned out to be the wrong size. Either the painting would have to be re-matted or she'd have to keep looking. There was an artist's supply store on the way to Brian's office. He could easily drop it off. The picture was small. If she removed the old mat, perhaps it could be tucked in his briefcase. 

Reggie placed the picture on the dining table, and began picking at the edges of the tape fastening the picture to the mat. The watercolor was attached loosely to a sturdy piece of cardboard, which Reggie decided would need to come off. To her surprise, between the watercolor itself and its cardboard backing lay another painting. It was quite small, four inches wide and five inches tall, a portrait of a young man in Renaissance dress, darkly lit, in shades of brown and gray. Why had it been hidden behind the watercolor? 

"Brian. Come look at this." 

Brian picked up the painting and examined it. He frowned. "Where did you get this?"

"It was a flea market find. Not from one of the regulars," she added hastily.

"It could be stolen property. We'll need to take it to the police on Monday morning, but there's someone I want to look at it first. She's a renowned art historian. I'm hoping she might recognize it."

~/~/~

Rose Valland removed her spectacles and put her hands on the table. "Monsieur Cruikshank, you are correct. This painting is stolen property. I'll need to check the records but I'm almost certain this is from Hermann Göring's private 'collection'." She stood and picked up her handbag. "I will leave you to enjoy the remainder of your Sunday. You have a lovely family." She smiled at Adam, who reached out to grab at her glasses.

"Adam, no. I am so sorry, Madamoiselle." Reggie felt a little faint. She had never entertained a member of the Legion of Honour before. It was a shock to learn that she had—by accident, of course—bought a painting that had been stolen by the Nazis. 

"I will call your office as soon as I have more information, Monsieur Cruikshank. Bonsoir, Madame. Bonsoir, Monsieur." 

Brian shut the door and turned back to Reggie. "My darling wife, you've done it again." He was grinning when he said it so she couldn't be in too much trouble. 

"I don't know what you're talking about. Take Adam, please, and bring me a glass of water. I need to get off my feet." Reggie handed Adam to her husband and sat down on the sofa. She kicked off her flats, lay down, and grabbed one of the bolsters for her head. 

Brian handed her a tumbler of cool water. "You've solved another mystery, Reggie." 

Reggie sipped her water. "Don't be silly. I didn't do anything." 

Brian put Adam on the rug and sat next to Reggie. "I think the lawful owners of the painting would disagree." He began massaging her left foot. "You did the right thing. Not everyone would have..." he paused at her bemused expression, "...and you know this better than most. Sorry, darling."

"Apology accepted— as long you keep rubbing my feet."

**Author's Note:**

> Rose Valland was a French art historian who served as overseer of the Jeu de Paume during the Nazi occupation of France. She kept a secret record of the whereabouts of thousands of artworks stolen from museums and private collectors, in particular, Jewish art collectors. Working with the French Resistance, she was responsible for saving thousands of works of art from being destroyed. After the war, she received a commission in the French military and continued her work in recovery and restitution. For her service and valor, she received many awards, including the Legion of Honor.


End file.
